


The Search for the Wandering One

by ludulfiantimes15



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 12:26:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12771033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ludulfiantimes15/pseuds/ludulfiantimes15
Summary: Loki runs away from Asgard, after realizing he doesn't belong there, the adventures of traveling BAMF Loki, while the rest of the Asgard starts to realize how great he was and mourn his loss. Eventual convergence into the whole Avengers thing, but with Loki not evil or as messed up as he is in the movie, and with Thor getting more comeuppance.





	The Search for the Wandering One

The mad king, the most daring of the whisperers called him, twittering in the silence of that vast golden court. The golden king, the golden royals. It was true, they were a gilded family, worthy of the keeping of Asgard and all of her people. Strong, imperious Odin, his white beard flowing like champagne, the beloved Allfather. Beautiful Frigga, mother of all, her face as warm and glowing as Idun’s apples. And Thor, their golden son, hero and heartbreaker, hammer steady and true. It was as if the lightning he commanded was always present, dancing invisibly around his edges, making him magnetic and almost impossible to look away from. All of Asgard worshipped them, idolized them. And yet, there was silence at today’s banquet. The nobles had hushed, fat Volstagg paused with a leg of mutton halfway to his mouth. There was complete silence as the bard sang of the forgotten son. The bard was small, his legs thin, and his hair obscuring much of his face. Any Asgard warrior could’ve easily snapped him in two, and yet he sang on, his sweet voice wavering and soaring, fragile as all songbirds are. Fandral, that beautiful fop, had a serious expression for once, glancing first at the stony faces of Frigga and Odin, and then back at the bard, as if he couldn’t help listening to the tale of Loki, as if he would’ve died before stopping his ears and turning away from the song. Though someone should have lept up and stopped him, no one moved as the melancholy song filled the great hall, leaving no room for anything but contemplation. 

Loki, caged Loki, one day flew away.  
Silver son woke from sleep, looked around,  
realized among the bright halls of Asgard  
That he was not home, he was trapped  
In the palace of unfamiliar lands  
Stange silver son, silver son, flew away.  
Run Loki run, far away from hating eyes,  
Loki of the green eyes, silver son, run away.

The last bits of the refrain trailed away, and the bard stopped and shook himself, as if returning from a trance. He saw the eyes of the court on him, the hushed revelry, and paled. He looked like a man condemned. In a way, he was. Odin rose slowly from his seat, pale eye furious. “Bard,” he said, teeth gritted, “What song is that? Who did you hear it from, and why did you choose to sing it in the middle of the feast celebrating the day of Thor’s birth?” The bard gulped, “I...I wrote it.” Odin looked even more enraged, but said nothing, letting the silence swell. The bard continued, “I should not have sung it, but it has been two years since Prince Loki disappeared, and the words of the song found me.” Odin laughed humorlessly, “You found your muse in a disgraced runaway prince?” The bard thought back to a rainy day, when he had been standing outside a muddy tavern on the outskirts of Asgard. How he had seen the flash of green eyes under a traveling cloak, and how he had seen pink lips curl into a wild, dazzling smile of freedom. That might’ve been the last time anyone had ever seen Prince Loki in Asgard. There were some rumours swirling around in neighboring worlds though, of a enchanting man, always aloof, always running, and of the green magic that flowed around him. The bard looked up and met Odin’s eye for the first time, “Yes, I did, Majesty.” Odin’s hands twitched a little, as if they was itching to strangle the bard. “Well,” said Odin, forcing down his rage, “In honor of my son’s day of birth, I won’t have you killed for your impudence. But you will never show your face here again.” The bard staggered a little in relief, then bowed, “Yes, Majesty,” he said, and raced out of the great hall before Odin had a chance to change his mind. Odin looked around at the frightened room, “Eat,” he roared, “Eat, drink, and be merry, for today is in honor of Prince Thor, and no cracked-voice weakling shall ruin it!” He held out his jewel-encrusted goblet in a toast, “To Thor!” and the room echoed it back to him, the sounds of merriment rising once more. But some minds were thinking about the silent dark-haired brother, instead of the golden one, about the Mischievous One, who had forever abandoned the golden rolling hills of Asgard, running instead in the dark.


End file.
